g^e LITTLE COLONEL S 
OOD TIMES BOOK 




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«7^c LITTLE COLONELS 





The Little Colonel Series 
{Trade Mark, Reg. U. S. Pat. Of.) 
Each one vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated 
The Little Colonel Stories ...... 

(Containing in one volume the three stories, " The 
Little Colonel," " The Giant Scissors," and 
" Two Little Knights of Kentucky.") 
The Little Colonel's House Party .... l.SO 



The Little Colonel's Holidays 
The Little Colonel's Hero . 
The Little Colonel at Boarding- School 
The Little Colonel in Arizona 
The Little Colonel's Christmas Vacation 
The Little Colonel: Maid of Honor . 
The Little Colonel's Knight Comes Riding 
Mary Ware: The Little Colonel's Chum 
The above 10 vols., boxed 



1.50 
1.50 
l.SO 
1.50 
1.50 
l.SO 
1.50 
1.50 
15.00 

1.50 



The Little Colonel's Good Times Book 

Illustrated Holiday Editions 

Each one vol., small quarto, cloth, illustrated, and printed 

in color 

The Little Colonel $1.25 

The Giant Scissors ....... 1.25 

Two Little Knights of Kentucky .... 1.25 

Big Brother . . . 1.25 

Cosy Cornet Series 
Each one vol., thin 12mo, cloth, illustrated 

The Little Colonel $.50 

The Giant Scissors ....... .50 

Two Little Knights of Kentucky .... .50 

Big Brother 50 

Ole Mammy's Torment .••... .50 

The Story of Dago SO 

Cicely SO 

Aunt 'Liza's Hero .50 

The Quilt that Jack Built 50 

Flip's " Islands of Providence " . . . . .50 

Mildred's Inheritance .50 

Other Books 

Joel: A Boy of Galilee $1.50 

In the Desert of Waiting .50 

The Three Weavers 50 

Keeping Tryst . . .50 

The Legend of the Bleeding Heart .... .50 

The Jester's Sword . .50 

The Rescue of the Princess Winsome .... .50 

Asa Holmes 1.00 

Songs Ysame (Poems, with Albion Fellows Bacon) . 1.00 

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY. Boston. Mass. 





ILittle €ohmU 
(^ooi) %imts Book 



By 

Annie Fellows Johnston 

Author of " The Little Colonel Series," " Big Brother," 

" Ole Mammy's Torment," " Joel : A Boy of 

Galilee," " Asa Holmes," etc. 

DECORATED BY P. VERBURO 




L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 
BOSTON Q^ MDCCCCIX 



Zhc Xittle Coloners 
(3oob Zlimee 3oo\\ 



Up in an attic where I 
sometimes go to rum- 
mage through old 
chests and look 
through piles of time- 
stained letters, I lately came across 
two things which gave me a peculiar 
pleasure. One was an old-fashioned 
"charm-string," and the other some 
squares of patchwork, made long 
ago in a country school-house, during 
the winter noon hours when it was 
too cold and snowy for the usual 
games outside. 

The first is only a motley collection 
of glass buttons, strung on a faded 
ribbon. When following the fashion 





of the school, I began to gather them, 
when the ribbon was a new one and 
rose-pink, I wondered why they called 
it charm string. Now I know. Each 
button of amethyst or ruby or other 
rainbow hue is like a crystal- gazer's 
globe. Looking through it I can see 
the magic moment when it was added 
to my string. 

This little blue one ringed with 
white ! I'd quite forgotten that there 
ever was a button made like that. 
But looking through it now, I recall 
as if it were but yesterday, how it 
came into my possession. I got it in 
a trade, and long I haggled with the 
boy across the aisle to make him give 
it up; emptying my pencil-box, and 
searching through my desk for some- 
thing that might not meet the scorn- 
ful uplift of his freckled nose, in lordly 
disapproval of " jus' girl's things." 
And I can see the very warts upon his 
grimy little hand, held out to take the 



objects for which at last he deigned 
to trade: a big red wine-sap apple, 
the stub of an indelible pencil, and an 
agate, badly nicked. 

That is the scene. The charm is, 
that for the moment, once more I am 
the child in ruffled pinafore, grasping 
the prize I coveted, seeing the world 
and human kind as one must see it 
who has not yet passed the limits of 
the Second Reader. 
- And this wee button, like a drop of 
honey, dates farther back than that. 
It was one that fastened an old-time 
gown of flowered organdy, one of 
wide flowing sleeves and hoop-skirt 
fashion; and fingering that button 
while I listened, I sat upon the 
wearer's lap and took long, rapt ex- 
cursions into the realms of song and 
story. A lullaby comes back with 
that, and fire-flies in the summer 
gloom outside, and in the dusky low- 
ceiled room, sweet with drowsy song, 





the creaking of a rocking chair, and 
smell of jessamine. 

This amber-apple one! A dear old 
lady gave me that, and turned a stiff, 
prim duty- visit to a time of joy. For 
though her hair was white, and when 
she went to fetch the button she 
leaned upon a black, gold-headed 
stick, I saw a part of her was young 
as I, and knew that she knew how it 
felt to sit perched up on a great chair 
entirely too tall, conscious of new 
blue shoes, and wide blue sash 
smoothed down behind, and make 
half-scared replies to awesome elders. 
In the box she brought there were 
some tiny artificial rosebuds, and lace 
that faintly smelled of sandal-wood, 
with which she showed me how to 
make a doll's hat ; that and the amber 
apple-shaped button ! And now when 
little guests look up with shy eyes 
into mine, I think perhaps it is that 
charm which helps me to interpret 





their timid silences, keeping still 
young a part of me to answer to the 
heart of childhood, as that dear old 
lady answered mine. 

The string is full, and it would take 
the covers of a book to hold the his- 
tories of them all. But I have told 
enough for you to see how much the 
faded ribbon holds besides those bits 
of glass. It is the same with all those 
squares of patchwork. That piece of 
white with red dots scattered through, 
means more than Sally's apron. It 
means the merriest soul upon the 
playground, the champion of the 
spelling matches ; so popular that for 
her sake the big boys let us join them 
in their games of " Two old cat," and 
yet, alas! so feminine, they jeered us 
when she caught the ball, not in her 
hands, but in that little ruffled apron. 

The stitches straggle now and then, 
for sometimes on the outskirts of our 
peaceful sewing-bees the boys waged 





crayon-fights, and gave vent to 
pent-up energies in ways to keep us 
starting from our seats with shrieks 
and pricked fingers. This plaid block 
with the squares of buff marks the 
noon they " crossed the Alps " upon 
the benches, jumping from one desk- 
top to another, till the stove-pipe, 
long and many jointed, fell with a 
bang, filling the room with smoke and 
giving us a holiday till it could be 
replaced. 

Now, when I recall these happen- 
ings, and think how long they have 
been hidden in my memory, they 
seem to me like things that have been 
lost within the woods, buried a little 
deeper every year by the falling leaves 
of the succeeding Autumns, and now 
revealed by a chance wind that blew 
the drifts aside. I know a host of 
other things are hidden thus, which 
only need a passing touch to bring to 
mind, and think regretfully how eas- 






ily I might have set some mark by 
which I could retrace my steps to 
them, as one would blaze a trail 
through a forest that he might find 
his way back again. 

If I had only kept a record of those 
brimfull, strenuous schooldays, what 
a well of laughter it would be to-day ! 
I did acquire the habit later. For 
twenty years I've kept a journal, and 
for so many reasons found the course 
a good one, that I heartily commend 
it to every girl and boy who knows 
enough to use a pen.- Not the con- 
ventional diary, however, which every 
one at some time in his life probably 
has attempted, starting out with grim 
determination to write a few lines 
every day, and soon discarding it as 
an intolerable bore. 

Write only when you've something 
that you want to keep. Maybe a fort- 
night may go by without a line, and 
then you'll need a page or two to 





chronicle the doings of one afternoon. 
One reason that so many diaries are 
thrown aside in the beginning, is that 
the writer patterns after those in fic- 
tion, and turns his inmost being 
wrong side out, to make a note of all 
his feelings. Now in the kind of diary 
I have in mind, feelings and self- 
analysis are as out of place as they 
would be on a play-ground. Any 
game would be a failure in which the 
players kept a finger on their pulses 
and stopped at intervals to take their 
temperature. The game of Life is no 
exception. You miss the goals you're 
after when you stop to be self-con- 
scious. 

Since " A boy's will is the wind's 
will, and the thoughts of Youth are 
long, long thoughts," it is better not 
to put down in black and white the 
fluctuations of your soul. In the 
growing up process it is perfectly 
natural that you should be a sort of 



weather-vane, but some day when you 
are pointing due west, it would be a 
blow to your vanity to come across 
the crude confessions of an earlier 
stage, when you were sighting some 
other point of the compass. Probably 
in a fit of disgust you would pitch the 
book into the fire. 

First and last put out of mind the 
thought that some one else may read 
what you have written and maybe 
quote it in your memoirs. A diary 
written with that end in view must be 
above all things else self-conscious. 
The kind that some day will be 
worth a fortune to you, is one kept 
simply in the squirrel-fashion of nut- 
gathering time. Once in a while, in 
the midst of care-free frisking, and 
eating your fill of the plump nuts on 
your particular tree, give a thought 
to the time of need that may be com- 
ing, and just drop a few into some 
hiding place for a winter store. If we 



could always trust our memories this 
need not be. But I have seen people 
scarce in their twenties, whose minds 
were so beclouded by the worries and 
misfortunes of their present, that all 
their happy past counted for nothing. 
They had no store of cheer laid by, 
no tangible reminder of past good 
times, by which to resurrect them. 

So for the reasons given in the 
rhymes which head these pages, be- 
gin a record of your Good Times 
early; and like the Little Colonel's 
string of pearls, some day you'll find 
it has become a priceless Rosary of 
Remembrance. 

^fvv,,^^ b^^cZl^^^o^ J^h;^'^^^ 







Scbruat^ 



'Tis the King's call. O list! 
Thou heart and hand of mine, keep tryst. 
Keep tryst or die ! 
The Little Colonel's Christmas Vacation. Page 78. 



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" Love will find a way " to make us forget the un- 
pleasant things and remember only the good. 

The Little Colonel at Boarding School. Page 245. 




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The phrase ' The road of the loving heart ' is a gospel 
in itself. ' The day is not longer than his kindness ' is 
a new beatitude. Fame dies and honours perish, but 
' loving kindness ' is immortal. 

The Little Colonel's House Party. Page 212. 


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The tune thou pipest may not bring thee pleasure, but 
if it sets the world to dancing it is enough. 

Mary Ware: The Little Colonel's Chum. Page 250. 


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remembering things is like looking back 
The Little Colonel's House Party. Page 213. 


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Only through unselfish service to others comes the 
happiness that is highest and best. 

The Gate of the Giant Scissors. Page 45. 



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And so may'st thou, while swinging onward, faith- 
ful to thy orbit, reflect the light of heaven upon thy 
fellow men. 

Mary Ware: The Little Colonel's Chum. Page 255. 


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September 



True hope is swift and flies with swallows' wings. 
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. 

The Little Colonel's Knight Comes Riding. Page 256 





Somehow, no matter how happy the holidays are, it 
always seems so good to get home. 

The Little Colonel's Holidays. Page 230. 



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The world expects us to do certain things. We must 
keep tryst with these expectations. 

The Little Colonel's Christmas Vacation. Page 91. 






IRovembet 








If we'll just grapple the things we dislike most to do, 
the little homely every-day duties, and busy ourselves 
with them, they'll help us rise above our discontent. 

The Little Colonel's Christmas Vacation. Page 238. 






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